So, it’s generally well-known that teenage girls love to go barefoot whenever they can, right? That when they’re indoors, you can pretty much count on them being so, showing off their pretty soft soles and well manicured toes?

Well, such was definitely not the case in the house I grew up in, nor indeed in my extended family. Everyone from age four on up always wore shoes or slippers in the house; the only ones who went barefoot were babies and toddlers.

Except for when of us was being punished.

There were four kids in my family; we were the following ages when this story took place: Therese, age 8; Quinn, age 12; myself (Angela), age 15, and Margie, age 16. When one of us did something deserving of punishment (such as lying, cheating at school, fighting, or cursing), we had to change into our “Punishment Outfit” and come down to the family room for a half hour of corner time and a spanking. Yes, you read that right – a spanking, even for us teenagers!

For Therese, Angie and me, the punishment attire consisted of a white sleeveless top and matching panties; for Quinn, it was just a pair of white briefs. We had to be barefoot as well, and since only babies went barefoot in our family, it had the effect of making us feel extra-embarrassed and ashamed. It was like saying we were too young to behave or dress ourselves properly! The effect was amplified hundreds of times if our extended family happened to be around, which was fairly often.

The punishment attire was mobile as well; if any of us seriously misbehaved when we were at our aunt’s or our grandparents’ houses, Mom and Dad would simply order us out of our clothes and shoes and park us, barefoot and underwear-clad, in a handy corner to await the inevitable spanking! We always got spanked bare-bottom (my parents were the sort who believed a spanking wasn’t really a spanking unless it was on the bare), often in front of each other and our relatives. It was hugely embarrassing, of course, but since all the kids were subject to the same discipline, it was something we were somewhat used to. I say “somewhat,” because nobody in their right mind gets completely used to being upended in front of company and smacked on the bare bottom! But there was one particular time when special circumstances embarrassed me like crazy, to the point where I thought I’d never get my dignity back!

It was Thanksgiving, and a big crowd was headed to our house for the feast: two sets of grandparents, Aunt Chloe and Uncle Vince with their kids Rebekah and John (ages 13 and 10 respectively), Aunt Margaret, Uncle Roy, and our older cousins Philip and Myra. Phil was 17 at the time, and Myra was 19 and engaged to a gorgeous guy named Michael, on whom I had a crazy schoolgirl crush! Myra never went anywhere without him these days, and that was part of what spelled my downfall.

I woke up in a lousy mood that Thanksgiving morning. I don’t know if it was hormones, the weather (grey and cloudy), or what, but I know I wasn’t fun to be around that day. Of course, the stress of preparing a huge meal for the relatives weighed heavy on my mom, and she was nervous and impatient.
Add to the mix the fact that the family was going through a rough patch financially at the time, and it was a recipe for disaster for my butt!

I won’t bore you with all the details. Suffice it to say that my mom was ticked off that I was being so uncooperative, and I didn’t feel the least bit friendly or helpful. My sister Margie finally got exasperated with me and said, “You know, it wouldn’t kill you to help out a bit.” To which I unfortunately replied—out loud and in my parents’ hearing—“Get bent, bitch!”

There was a moment of heavy silence, very much the calm before the storm. Then my mom got red in the face and yelled, “How dare you talk to your sister like that? You apologize this instant!”

“Why should I?” I yelled back. “She’s got no right ordering me around!”

My dad entered the fray at that point, saying in a most authoritative tone, “That’s enough of that. It looks like at least one of our children is going to be eating Thanksgiving dinner in her punishment outfit this year.”

“Angela Lynne, you know very well that we don’t use that kind of language in this house. Therese and Quinn could have heard you! You've been impossible all day, and you’re being punished.”

“I’m sorry, Daddy, I swear I won’t talk like that again!”

“No, you certainly won’t after the spanking you have coming. You have exactly five minutes to be changed and standing in the corner.”

Margie held her hand up to her face to hide the grin she wore. She knew about my crush on Michael, and the thought of me spending the day in my underwear in front of him and the whole family must have seemed like just desserts to her, considering what a brat I’d been all morning.

“Please! Mom?” I turned my desperate, pleading face toward my mother in hopes of winning a reprieve. She just shook her head and said, “You heard your father. March, young lady!”

“Ohhhh!!!!” I cried in despair, tears falling as I ran to my room. Everyone was gonna see me in my underwear! Michael was gonna see my bare butt get tanned!! My life was over!!! I started pulling off my clothes in abject misery.